


A Comedy of Eros (A Tragedy of Communication in Five Acts)

by AsheRhyder



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Not Actually Unrequited Love, not actually dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: Hanzo wondered why they even made mission plans when they all went horrifically wrong. Take this last one: what was supposed to be a quiet artifact retrieval from Ilios turned into a brawl with Talon over an ancient quiver full of arrows.Arrows that, apparently, had some Very Interesting Side Effects on enemy and friend alike.





	1. Act One: What Happened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibimono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibimono/gifts).



> See end note for Reassurances about a Not-Really-A-Warning with Potential Spoilers.

 

Hanzo was beginning to wonder why they even bothered to make mission plans when they all went horrifically wrong. In his six-month tenure with the Recalled Overwatch, there was not a single operation where the plan held up even to the halfway mark. The closest any had come was one time in Dorado when they actually managed to get to the payload and escort it a quarter of the way to the first checkpoint, only to discover that what they thought was a cache of stolen weapons they could reappropriate was, in fact, an armed bomb. 

The current mission in Ilios was supposed to be a quiet infiltration, acquisition, and extraction. Infiltrate the archaeological excavation of a recently discovered temple, acquire whatever artifact or artifacts were giving off strange energy readings, and get out. Instead, it was an all-out, all-in, all-or-nothing throw down between a Talon squad and the Overwatch team. All over a quiver of ancient arrows. 

Hanzo had no idea what made the relics so valuable. There were only five of them: four with a golden sheen and one matte black in a simple leather case. They were certainly well crafted, but even the best of Hanzo’s modern arrows, designed to supplement his carefully trained abilities, didn’t warrant a fraction of this kind of attention. Talon went as far as to send a top-tier mercenary, the masked menace known only a Reaper, along with their regular troops. And they were certainly getting their money’s worth; Reaper was simultaneously a tactician, leader, and front-line fighter, and he tore through the terrain like he had been bred for war.

The black-clad mercenary dropped in on them as they reached the artifacts, his twin shotguns echoing like thunder in the ancient hall. Winston set a barrier to help cover their retreat, but they ended up scattering as Talon forces started swarming, each teammate taking a different opening. Hanzo barely had time to grab the relics and scale the walls of the ruins before his position was overrun. He emptied his quiver thinning out enemy numbers, picking off Talon agents before they could pin down Zenyatta and sending the dragons after the ones hounding Tracer and Winston. By the time he caught up with McCree and Soldier:76 in a recessed courtyard, so had Reaper.

    McCree was already on the ground, his side and leg dyed red with his own blood. Reaper had Soldier:76 up against the wall with his clawed gauntlets around the old man’s throat, seemingly unconcerned with Soldier’s increasingly desperate attempts to dislodge him. The pulse rifle and shotguns lay nearby, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

    “I know you,” Reaper’s growl echoed, eerily loud. “I’d know you anywhere, dead or alive.”

    Talon agents crested the sides of the killbox, closing in from all sides. 

    Hanzo reached for a scatter arrow and found nothing. No scatter arrows, no sonic arrows, nothing but the antiques they came after. The dragons could not answer his call again so soon. He glanced down into the killbox and saw two Talon agents heading for McCree. 

    Well. If they wanted the arrows so bad, they could have them. 

    He nocked one of the golden arrows and shot the man approaching McCree from his wounded side, then drew another and shot the woman on his other side. The black arrow came to his hand next, and he hit Reaper square in the back, but the mercenary only froze. McCree hauled himself to his feet and finished off the two coming after him. Hanzo lined up another shot. There was writing on the shaft, he realized.  _ Eros _ , it read. 

    “Hanzo, watch out!” McCree yelled, firing directly at something over Hanzo’s shoulder. The bullet stirred his ribbon as it passed, and the Talon agent sneaking up behind him fell down dead. In the same moment, Hanzo released his bowstring. The arrow skimmed past McCree’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood before it slammed into the back of Reaper’s head. Impossibly, the mercenary still didn’t fall. If anything, he pressed closer to his prey. His hands loosened from Soldier’s throat, moving up towards his face. Soldier shoved him back. Reaper’s footing faltered, and he ended up facing McCree’s back. Hanzo let the last arrow fly before he could turn his rage to a new target;  _ Storge _ , he saw along the shaft, before it slammed into Reaper’s chest. Reaper jerked with the impact, swirling into smoke. The arrows fell to the ground and vanished. 

    Soldier:76 took the opportunity to grab his gun and regroup with McCree, dropping a biotic emitter to help stabilize the cowboy. Hanzo reached for another arrow, remembered that there wouldn’t be one, and was surprised to find all five in the ancient quiver anyway. The remaining Talon agents closed in, only to stop as Reaper’s dark cloud resolidified into a berserker flurry of gunshots. 

    “Die, die, die!” he roared, and bodies fell around him, but the ones that hit the ground were in Talon uniforms. Reaper dropped his empty shotguns and took a step towards Soldier, only to be shot with a burst of pulse munition. He ghosted through most of the bullets and looked down at the damage while Soldier reloaded. “Well,” he said in a grumpy but much less bloodthirsty tone, “that was uncalled for.” 

    Soldier:76 balked.

“A minute ago you were trying to kill me!” 

“And thirty seconds ago, I saved your life. A thank you would be nice.” 

“Are you kidding me? Thank  _ you _ ?” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Jack shot him again. 

“Okay, I realize this is going to be complicated, and I have a list of frustrations I need to hash out with you too, but honey, do we really have to do this in front of the kid? You know how it upsets him when his parents fight.” 

    “ _ Honey?! _ ”

“The kid? Is he pointing at me?” McCree yelped. 

The rest of the Overwatch team converged on their location, then. There was a clamor of confusion and outrage that only intensified as Reaper took off his mask. Given the sheer volume and intensity of invective being hurled, some of the team seemed to recognize him. There was a lot of cursing, some of it quite creative and anatomically impossible.

    Hanzo slid down the wall and gripped the quiver tighter. All five arrows clattered gently inside: four golden and one black. But the holes in the back of Reaper’s coat where the arrows pierced him were equally real, and they started to paint a clearer, if distressing, picture of why the quiver and its contents drew Talon’s attention. 

“Maybe he got brain damage when he got head shot.” Jack growled.

“I’m right here, and I’d say I’m thinking pretty clearly.” Reaper snorted. “Junior’s ridiculous threats of improbable bodily harm aside, we’re having a coherent conversation.”

    "You literally went from strangling me to straddling me after you took an arrow to the back of the skull!” 

“Give me a break. Can’t I change my mind?” 

“Not that fast and that extremely!” 

“Look--” 

Jack shot him again. 

“Oh come on! What the hell was that for?” 

“I’m not coming on! You’re the bad guy!” 

“I don’t think you’ve noticed, but I literally just shot everyone I came here with for pointing a gun at you.” 

“You pointed two guns at me, and you tried to strangle me!”

“Strangling wasn’t intimate enough for you?” 

“The fuck?!” 

“I mean, I was really pissed off at the time?” 

“Why is that a question?!”

    “Well, I’m not right now.”

    “Because your brain is scrambled!”

“Actually, I’m having a moment of sublime fucking clarity, and I’d really like it to last because it’s a lot better than the pain I’m usually feeling, but you keep shooting me, and that’s making it difficult.” 

Hanzo felt like he was watching a tennis match in a sports anime. There was a lot of raised voices, fiery auras of determination, and the distinct feeling that the whole storyline was about two pages away from being shrink-wrapped for adult content or spinning off into doujinshi. Despite this, he still noticed immediately when McCree sidled up closer to him. The sharp tang of blood cut through his usual scent of smoke, leather, and gunpowder, and Hanzo winced to think how bad the wound had to have been to overpower that combination. 

“I never seen anyone shake off one of your headshots like that,” McCree muttered. “I mean, that thing ought to have been coming out the other side!”

“And yet the arrow is back in the quiver, and the man stands before us unharmed.” Hanzo murmured back. “He does not seem much bothered by Soldier’s pulse rifle, either.”

    “Oh, that? Nah, he’s feeling that all right. Reyes never let pain show. You could tell how hurt he was ‘cause he’d get awful damn polite and calm when it was real bad.”

   “So you  _ do  _ know this man.”

    McCree let out a low, soft whistle, barely more than an exhale between his teeth. 

    “I knew someone like him, darlin’, but he died a long time ago. I’m… not really sure what’s going on here, to tell the truth.”

    “Neither am I,” Hanzo shook his head.

    Soldier and Reaper escalated to shouting, but the guns no longer featured in their argument. Instead, they snapped and snarled about decisions years in the past with pointed words that hit just as hard. It sounded like a conversation that had been long coming.

    McCree shook his head and turned his full focus on Hanzo. The archer felt the heat of that gaze on his skin like it was the sun in a cloudless desert sky. McCree had a knack for splitting his attention across multiple targets, but when it came together on a single point, his focus intensified exponentially. Hanzo let his eyes drift to the shallow cut on McCree’s cheekbone so he didn’t burn up under that stare.

    “Listen, I know my timing is shit, but we both nearly died today, and we’ll probably do the same tomorrow, so there ain’t really any better time to ask,” he said. 

    “A better time for what?” Hanzo asked. 

    “You maybe wanna grab dinner or something sometime?” McCree rubbed the back of his neck, an awkward gesture that simultaneously suited him and seemed out of place against his usual self-assuredness.

    “We eat dinner together regularly.” Hanzo’s brow creased. “Everyone does. It is the only way to keep from eating the same thing every night since most of the team can only cook one or two dishes.”

    “That’s not what I meant,” McCree groaned. “I mean just you and me. You know.”

    Surprise turned Hanzo’s blood to frozen lightning in his veins. McCree’s shoulders slumped. 

    “You don’t know,” he growled, low and deep with self-recrimination. “Shit, this is so much easier when it don’t mean nothing.”

    “It means--?” Hanzo’s befuddlement was quickly pushed aside as Soldier and Reaper hit some new level of aggression and they started yelling in each other’s faces. 

    “Why the hell are you doing this?” Soldier roared. 

    “Because I’m in love with you, you asshole!” Reaper howled back. 

    Some little bit of Western iconology clicked for Hanzo in that instant, and he stared down at the arrows in shock and dismay. One golden shaft caught his eye in particular, bloodless and pristine like thousands of years of time and Hanzo’s furious, momentary audacity had never touched it. 

_     Eros _ , it said, even though Hanzo suddenly realized he shouldn’t be able to read ancient Greek. 

    He looked at the hole in Reaper’s hood. 

    He looked at the graze on McCree’s cheek. 

    He looked at the arrows and his bow. 

    “Oh,” he said. “Damn.”


	2. Act Two: Why It Sucked

_ Three Weeks Ago… _

“Getting tired, gunslinger?” Hanzo called from atop the battlements of the fallen castle. McCree pulled himself from a reverie of a moonlight rendezvous and midnight adventure for the cloudy ten AM drudgery of pre-mission preparation. He was one of the first to finish equipping himself for the upcoming job; unlike Pharah or Mercy, none of his gear required last-minute fine-tuning. 

    “Not a chance.” He gave the archer his best smile, the warmest and most inviting he could make, and was repaid for his effort with a glimpse of surprise on Hanzo’s face before he turned away stiffly. 

    They swept through the empty town looking for signs of Talon activity in the ruins. Eventually they came to a tavern, still standing despite the half-exploded equipment just outside.

    “Looks like a good place to hole up,” McCree muttered over the comm, and Hanzo grunted in response.

    “We should investigate.” 

    Remnants of old battles littered the inside: old maps and scribbled plans on the tables, empty tankards on the counter, tell-tale scuffs and scrapes from combat gear on the floors and benches, but the passage of time faded the urgency and tension of their origins. Hanzo scaled to the upper level. His light footsteps barely stirred the dust between the floorboards. McCree stalked around the bar, eyeing lines of sight against cover. The bar itself was solid, strong enough to take the carousing of the old Crusaders with only minor damage. With the kegs still set up behind it, it gave the bar the illusion of a war room where the revolutionaries had only just stepped out. 

    “Hey Hanzo.” McCree called out, and Hanzo leaned over the edge of the railing to look at him. “Think any of these taps still work? I’m feeling an almighty thirst.” To McCree’s bafflement, Hanzo’s face went through a rapid series of unreadable emotions before settling on annoyance. Crimson spread across his high cheekbones as he huffed and turned on his heel. McCree watched him go with a sigh and went back to scouting.

 

_ Two Weeks Ago… _

    “‘An almighty thirst’?” Fareeha covered her grin and tried to contain her chuckle, but it was no use. Jesse groaned into the table, face down and arms over his head. 

    “Not one of your better lines,” Angela nodded. Her smile, at least, was more sympathetic.

    “I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ ,” Jesse moaned. “I mean, I did, ‘cause have you  _ seen  _ the man?”

    “It would be difficult to find someone who’s been looking quite as intently as you have,” Angela giggled. Jesse whimpered. Betrayed at every turn.

    “So what, he just walked away?” Fareeha asked. “He didn’t say anything?”

    “Nope. Just gave me this look and got all red and walked away.” He sighed. “Didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the mission.”

Angela patted his shoulder. 

    “I’m sure it’s not so bad. He doesn’t seem very talkative in the first place.”

    “He and Reinhardt spent the entire trip back going at it about samurai vs. knights,” he grumbled. “He just doesn’t like me.”

    “Well, forget him then.” Fareeha said adamantly. 

    “That’s what I’m  _ trying _ to do, but every time I think I got him outta my system, he goes and does something... " He gestured, vaguely and impressively for a man with his face still planted against the table. Angela and Fareeha exchanged looks. 

    “Pretty?” Angela offered.

    “Hot?” Fareeha suggested. 

    “ _ Nice _ ,” Jesse grunted. 

    Both women blinked. “Nice” was quite possibly the last word either of them would have considered to describe Shimada Hanzo. If Jesse was using it, the situation was much worse than they thought. 

    “Jesse--” Angela started, aiming for a gentle tone. 

    “Check him for a concussion,” said Fareeha, who was less inclined to pull her punches. 

    Jesse sat up and scowled. That, at least, was an improvement. 

    “I ain’t concussed,” he said. “I didn’t even get shot.”

    “Miracles never cease,” Angela muttered.

    “Look, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, okay? I just... notice things.” 

    “While you’re staring at your crush.” Fareeha added unhelpfully. 

    Jesse glared at her. 

    “You know he makes the coffee in the morning?”

    “I thought he only drank tea.”

    “He does, but most of the rest of us don’t.” He tipped his hat back and ran his hand through his hair. “Every damn morning. Thought it was Jack at first, on account of him gettin’ up at the ass-crack of dawn, but no. Caught Hanzo in there one morning. Made his tea and put the coffee on to brew before leaving.” 

Angela and Fareeha blinked. 

“Well, that’s certainly--” 

“And he restocks the training room ammo.” 

“... yes?” Fareeha tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “That’s just good practice?” 

“Everyone’s ammo. He tops it off whenever he’s on the range. Just makes sure everyone’s stash is full, just in case they forgot.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who forgets to restock, Jesse.” Fareeha frowned, but Angela gasped. 

“Oh, so that’s why I never have to go looking for more blaster ammo!” Fareeha gave her an exasperated look, and Angela blushed. “I don’t use the blaster very often.” 

“We’ll practice with that later,” Fareeha promised. 

Jesse gave them a ‘and there you go’ gesture. 

“It’s… surprising that he’s considerate, Jesse, but still, these are just nice things he does for the whole team,” she said. “It does you no good to dwell on them. For all you know, he could be doing them for someone else--” 

He held up a hand. 

“He brought me Meltyblend.” 

“He brought you what?” 

“It’s this candy-- last time I was in Japan, I picked up a box, and I got hooked, okay? They’re like, little tiny squares of chocolate, only they’re real delicate. Melts above room temperature. Don’t ship real easy, definitely can’t get ‘em in the summer.” He sighed and put his head down again. “I was talkin’ to Genji about it before he and Hanzo hit up Hanamura a couple of missions ago. Genji didn’t think they’d have time to get to a store, but Hanzo chucked a box at my head when he got off the ship. Didn’t even wait long enough for me to figure out what nailed me with, let alone thank him.” 

“He gave you chocolate?” Angela squealed. Jesse nodded as best he could while face down on table. Fareeha contemplated. 

“Maybe you have a chance after all.” 

 

_ Simultaneously, on the other side of the base… _

“I am personally victimized by Jesse McCree’s voice.” Hanzo groaned, face down on a different table. “It should be illegal.” 

“Pretty sure it is,” said Hana, tapping away at her hand-held game. “Along with the rest of him.” 

“Oh, did he do the thing?” asked Lúcio, more sympathetically. “The one where he just drops his pitch right down  _ here _ and then--” 

“Do not dare,” Hanzo snapped without sitting up. 

“No worries, man, I know what you mean.” Lúcio said. “He’s not really my type, but when he does that thing…” 

“Eh,” said Hana. “Both of you have bad taste.” 

Hanzo sat up enough to glare at her. 

“Why are you even here? How did I come to be discussing  _ this _ with  _ you _ ?” 

“You weighed in wrong on the best Pokémon starter.” She said without looking up. “Water starters are lame. Fire is much better.” 

“Water beats fire,” Hanzo pointed out. 

“You guys are both wrong, it’s still Grass type, all the way.” Lúcio said. Both Hana and Hanzo stared at him a moment, and then exchanged that special look that communicated, “I know you’re wrong, but at least you’re not as wrong as that guy”. 

“Anyway, you don’t get to run away from this encounter until you admit that Fire is the best.” Hana shrugged. “If that means listening to your embarrassing crush on the cowboy, I’ll listen to your embarrassing crush on the cowboy. I’ve done stupider side quests for less XP and dumber treasure.” 

Hanzo sank back down against the table. 

“Don’t believe her,” Lúcio said. “She thinks it’s adorable and she’s very supportive.” 

“Your cake is a lie,” Hana muttered. 

“We’re both very supportive.” Lúcio promised. 

Hanzo sighed and tried not to think too deeply about it. 

“You should just ask him out.” Hana blew a bubble and popped it with a bite.

“There is a very long list of reasons why that is a bad idea.” 

She hit pause and turned to glare at him, actually putting down her system so she could tick off items on her fingers. 

“One, you’re scared he’ll say no. Two, you’re scared he’ll say yes. Two is not a very long list.” 

“Why would he want--” Hanzo sat up again, but Hana didn’t even hesitate. 

“Falls under number one.” She interrupted, and Hanzo faltered. 

“I-- we work together, what if it does not work out?” 

“Falls under number two. And aren’t you guys supposed to be adults or something? Sheesh. Be professional.” 

“In my profession, when one has a falling out, it traditionally ends in bloodshed.” Hanzo said flatly. 

“Be a different professional.” She rolled her eyes. 

Faced with opposition he could neither defeat nor divert, Hanzo did the next best thing and sulked. 

“How did I end up discussing  _ this _ with  _ you. _ ” 

Lúcio sighed. It was going to be a long conversation. 

 

_ One Week Ago… _

Hanzo and McCree sat on opposite sides of the briefing room table as Soldier:76 and Winston debated over key entry points on the Ilios map. Soldier favored coming in high and working their way down, the better to surprise and take down any opposing forces that might be on site. Winston preferred the opposite, landing closer to the beach and heading up through the town, using strategic points as waystations so they’d have a clear line to fall back if (or, as he put it,  _ inevitably when _ ) they ran into trouble. 

But some plans couldn’t even take shape without getting derailed, and what started out as a simple conversation quickly descended into an actual argument. 

Hanzo, though on Defense, pointed out that starting from a higher perch gave them a better view of the field. McCree, never one to agree with Jack Morrison if the old man wasn’t actually 100% in the right, stressed the importance of a safe exit strategy. Zenyatta gave no opinion of either tactic. Tracer felt like it might be a wise idea to step outside of the flow of time and come back when people weren’t so riled up, because Hanzo’s expression was thunderous, and McCree looked like a stormfront in his own right. 

“Now see here, there ain’t no reason to go haring off to the top of the mountain right off the bat!” The cowboy growled.

“There is no reason to waste time taking such a circuitous route,” Hanzo countered. “If there is any opposition to be met, it will notice the shuttle as soon as it touches down on the beach. Better to reach the goal swiftly rather than risk failing to make it to our target at all.”

“Better to make it there in one piece than break your fool neck climbing down the damn mountainside.” McCree snapped. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you slow and steady wins the race?”

“With that kind of attitude, it is a wonder you ever get to the point in the first place.” 

Both men scowled at each other before sharply redirecting their attention to Winston and Soldier:76. Neither noticed the flash of guilt that twisted the other’s face for their heated words. The same thought slunk through their heads and sat there all the way to Ilios:

_ He could never like me. Damn. _


	3. Act Three: Where They Went From There

     Reaper laughed at the cuffs but held his hands out for them anyway. 

    “You know these don’t work on me, right?” he purred to Soldier:76. He turned one wrist to smoke and slipped his hand free, then put it back in place and resolidified. “Outside the bedroom, that is.”

    Soldier:76 muttered curses too low and too fast to be distinct; it all came out as one long stream of profanity. Hanzo would have been more impressed if the man wasn’t as red as the glass of his visor all the way up to his hairline. 

    McCree followed the proceedings warily, but with an expression of fascinated horror carved onto his face. 

    “How awkward is this for you?” Tracer asked. “Is it like walking in on your parents?”

    “Is that what this feeling is?” He replied in a faintly strangled tone. “I thought it was the blood loss. Always used to get queasy from biotics right after losing a pint or two.”

    “His parents?” Hanzo turned quizzically to Tracer.

    “Reyes used to be part of Overwatch,” she said, memory subduing her normal energy. “He trained Jesse--”

    “You don’t need to be bringing up ancient history,” McCree grunted. His eyes slid away from the scene. “It doesn’t matter much, because Reyes is dead, and dead men can’t be super-powered mercenaries who hired themselves out to terrorist organizations.” There was too much heat in his voice, and it carried farther than he probably intended, because Reaper stopped flirting with Soldier:76 long enough to give him a stoic, almost sad look.

    Hanzo remembered the impossible writing on the arrow that hit Reaper in the chest:  _ storge _ . He never heard the word before, but just thinking about it filled him with an unfamiliar kind of affection, something strangely paternal. His fingertips tingled against the leather quiver, and one of the gold-shafted arrows seemed to glimmer brighter than the others. He nearly dropped the whole lot in surprise. 

    “Hanzo?” McCree was at his side in an instant, all his earlier grimness banished by  gentle concern. The shift of the arrows in the quiver sent shivers down Hanzo’s spine, and the smooth rumble of McCree’s voice only made it worse. “You okay, darlin’?”

    “The arrows--” Hanzo gasped. “They did this. I did not know--”

    “The arrows? What are you talking about?”

    “I thought it was one of your western myths. You keep the pictures, but not the practice!” 

    “Hanzo, honey, you aren’t making a lick of sense. Can you take a breath and--”

    “I did not know they were real; I would not have used a god’s tools--”

    “God’s tools? You mean these--” McCree moved to take the quiver, but Hanzo jerked it away with a shout. 

    “Do not touch them!”

    McCree recoiled, face crumpling into an expression reminiscent of a kicked dog. Hanzo felt guilt curl heavily in his chest where it wrapped around his heart and dragged it all the way down to the depths of his guts. The valiant effort McCree made to bury his hurt under his easy-going smile only made it worse. 

    “Easy, darling, easy.” He held up his hands and stepped farther back. “I’m not crowding you.”

    “You are already afflicted. I would not have you make it worse.” Hanzo shook his head. 

    “Afflicted?” McCree straightened up. The shadow of his hat turned his face thunderous like a summer storm. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  
“The arrows! Cupid’s arrows!”

    Soldier and Reaper finally pulled themselves away from their argument at Hanzo’s hoarse cry. 

    “What’s going on?” Soldier demanded. 

    “You alright?” Reaper asked McCree, who jerked away before the mercenary could reach him. Reyes frowned and glanced at the blood stains from his earlier wounds. “Didn’t get enough time with the biotic emitter?”

    “That’s none of your damn business,” McCree snapped.

    “If you’re hiding your injuries again--”

    “You got no room to talk! And you’re the one who put them there in the first place!”

    “If I’d been trying to  _ kill _ you, it would have been your face, not your side and leg.”

    “THAT IS ENOUGH!” Winston roared. It reverberated through the stone and echoed down the mountain. More immediately, it commanded the instant attention of everyone present. Winston choked a little under the intensity of their scrutiny. “Ah, my apologies for losing my temper, but this bickering gets us nowhere. I suggest we all return to base with our…” He glanced at Reaper, who shrugged dramatically enough to ghost out and back into the cuffs again with a smirk. “... er, our  _ guest _ to debrief and figure out what’s going on.”

    Soldier grumbled something under his breath that his face mask muffled incomprehensibly. 

    “Jack, Jack, Jack,” Reyes tsked. “Such language in front of the boy!”

    “Sure as hell better not be talking about me.” McCree growled. He and Soldier each snagged one of Reaper’s arms and shoved him towards the transport ship. Hanzo watched the smug amusement on the mercenary’s face fade into something softer, older, and deeper. It brought out lines of pain among the scars, and it made Hanzo’s hands itch against the quiver to see them. 

 

    On the ship, Reyes immediately ghosted out of Jack and Jesse’s grips to throw himself onto the padded bench by the table. He reformed with his hood up and his mask pulled down to cover his eyes, cuffs dangling off one hand while the other went behind his head. 

    “Goddamnit, Gabe!” Jack hissed and stalked forward. 

    “What, did you want a nap too, dear?” Gabriel sat up just enough to quirk a wicked smile at him. “It’d be a tight squeeze, but I think we could share.”

    “That arrow definitely scrambled your brains if you think I’m getting on  _ that  _ with  _ you. _ ”

    Gabriel shrugged and laid back down. 

    “Suit yourself, love.” 

  
Jack made a sound like a cat choking on a squirrel and turned to stomp up to the cockpit instead. McCree, not to be driven off as easily as Jack, took up his vigil on the shorter end of the bench, one hand at his hip and deceptively relaxed eyes on their so-called guest.  

    “McCree, are you…” Winston winced, somewhere between concerned by and for him. 

    “We’ll be fine,” he drawled. “That bull ain’t getting out of the rodeo while this cowboy’s around.”

    Reyes unsuccessfully smothered a laugh. 

    “You want some wine to go with that cheese?”

    McCree’s mouth curled into a sneer. Hanzo wondered if anyone else was looking closely enough to see the traces of amusement and long-forgotten fondness that crept into it. Then he chided himself for staring and hurriedly secured himself and the relics into the seats on the opposite side of the ship. He did not notice the way McCree’s eyes flickered over to him, or the way Reaper caught that glance from under his mask. 

 

    McCree’s invitation echoed in Hanzo’s head over the roar of the engines. The knowledge that the tantalizing offer only came because his aim had faltered ever so slightly enough to nick him with the accursed arrow offered an extra layer of pain: a failure of skill on top of deeper heartbreak. Heartbreak, at least, was familiar enough to be a comfortable fit on him. He settled easily into its sharp, suffocating embrace as if he’d never left and could find no solace that, at least this time, he came by it unintentionally. 

    The short trip back to base dragged. Guilt and dread drew seconds into minutes and minutes into hours for Hanzo, and he felt hyper-aware of his teammates’ presences without looking up from the quiver and arrows. Tracer shot him unsubtle, concerned glances at regular intervals. Zenyatta hovered nearby, though what went through the Omnic’s mind was anybody’s guess. Jack stayed in the cockpit with Winston. In deference to caution, he kept his chair angled so that he faced the long bench where Reaper reclined, and he never took his hand off his pulse rifle. Winston, at least, was a productive member of the team and piloted the ship. And McCree... 

    McCree somehow managed to keep a running conversation with Reaper without either of them saying a single word aloud. They shared a language of subtle shifts and near-soundless breaths; one man’s dialect was the stillness of summer in the desert, the other’s was the silence of the grave. It was not a language well-suited to arguments, but McCree made it work for him. He had too much to say to do otherwise. 

A brief but intense flash of bitter jealousy stabbed through Hanzo’s chest: how much Genji and Jesse had in common, now, to have such relatives who so horrifically let them down.

    Suddenly, whatever discussion McCree and Reaper were having came to a decisive and audible end. 

“All right, boy. If that’s the way you want to handle it…” Reyes sighed. 

“If you really are who you say you are, you’ll know exactly how damn well the old way worked.”

    “It didn’t.”

    “ _ Exactly. _ ”

    “What are you two talking about?” Jack demanded. 

    Hanzo looked up in time to see McCree and Reaper exchange looks loaded like guns. 

    “You aren’t going to believe me when I tell you.” Reyes huffed and pulled his mask down over his face. Jack turned to McCree, whose expression was startlingly unreadable. 

    “Y’all never paid me enough for this shit,” the cowboy said, tilting his hat to block the cockpit and settling into a moody slump where he could still keep an eye on Reaper and Hanzo. 

 

    The commotion at the Watchpoint when the team disembarked with Reaper in ‘custody’ was almost as loud as it had been when Reaper unmasked on Ilios, but only because Reinhardt was vocal enough to cover the people stunned into silence. Angela gasped and went frightfully pale, while Torbjörn just scowled and stomped away muttering under his breath. Genji said nothing, but the close proximity he kept to Zenyatta indicated he was anything but comfortable with the revelation. Ana and Fareeha each tried to surreptitiously stand in front of the other, Ana’s one eye mournful while Fareeha’s were hard and angry. Mei had never met Reyes in the previous incarnation of Overwatch, and she, like the newer members of the team, was confused. Only the ones with a more militant background were familiar with Reaper in his current state, and that was by his ruthless reputation.

    Fortunately for Jack’s blood pressure, Gabriel refrained from the same level of outrageous flirtation he displayed earlier in the day. He pushed his mask up, kept his hands in the cuffs, and let McCree and Soldier:76 each grab an arm again with no protest but a frown. 

    Hanzo hesitated on the ramp, fingers burning where they touched the quiver. Perhaps showing the strain of so many failed previous plans, there were no arrangements for containing the relics, and the commanders were too distracted by the capture to give instructions now. 

    “Hanzo,” McCree called out, causing a shiver to run down his spine and fire to coil in his middle. The cowboy looked over his shoulder, and Hanzo felt the ice and fire collide in a queasy storm as he met his concerned gaze. “You coming?” Hanzo’s gaze fell to the arrows, and he nodded. He did not see McCree’s mouth thin to terse line or the subtle elbow to the ribs Reaper gave his former protege. 

 

    There was some considerable debate over whether to take Reaper directly to a holding cell, an interrogation room, or into the debriefing office. 

    “He’s a  _ terrorist _ .” 

    “He’s got important information.” 

    “Maybe we ought to hear what he has to say?” 

    “The man was shot in the head; nothing he has to say is going to be of any use.” 

    “He ought to be in Medical--!”

    “He got better, that’s not important.” 

    “Not  _ important _ \--” 

“He led Talon forces straight through the Gibraltar base--” 

“Well, of course, it’s not like it’s anywhere new to him--” 

“We can’t trust him.” 

“Who said anything about trust?” 

“Any information you get out of him is compromised--” 

“--shot in the  _ head _ \--” 

“It’s not like the holding cell is going to do much to keep him in when the cuffs don’t.” 

“Ah, the dulcet tones of bureaucracy.” Reyes heaved a sigh, leaning closer to Soldier:76. “How I’ve missed this pointless bickering. Oh wait. I didn’t.” 

“You’re not helping,” Jack growled. 

“I blew a contract, crossed a squad of terrorists, and have been gamely letting you keep me in cuffs without any foreplay to speak of, Golden Boy. You want anything more helpful, get a personal assistant.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Crossed? Double crossed? Triple? Fuck. I’ve lost count.” 

“Triple?” Winston’s brow creased. “But you worked--” Surprise and suspicion warred across his face while the rest of the team tried to catch up. 

“What do you say, Jack? You, me,  _ debriefing _ ?” Gabriel’s deep voice hit a positively indecent pitch. 

“For fuck’s sake.” Jack hissed. 

“That’s the general idea.” Gabriel chuckled, then nodded at McCree and Hanzo. “Seriously, though, the boy’s itching to ask questions, and your new Cupid back there looks like he’s going to throw up.” Hanzo managed to keep from flinching, but only just barely. 

“Play nice,” McCree growled. Reyes huffed. 

“The arrows.” Winston focused on the quiver in Hanzo’s hands, and everyone else’s attention followed. This time, the archer couldn’t stand still under the combined focus. “Oh. Damn.” 


	4. Act Four: When Things Got Serious

Hanzo set the five arrows next to the quiver on the briefing room table, the etched words facing up. Displaying the same undeniable sense of drama that permeated every fiber of his being, Reaper sat down across from them so that the black arrow aimed directly at his heart. McCree almost came to Hanzo’s side, but the pained flinch on the archer’s face made him hesitate, and Reaper dragged him into the chair next to him. Jack stood across from them. He kept his arms crossed and his visor on. 

“All right,” he said. “What do we know?” 

“Don’t you dare,” McCree growled at Reaper before the mercenary could say anything. Reyes gave a look of affronted innocence that would have been much more convincing had he not gestured right out of the cuffs again. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinned. Jack ground his teeth hard enough to be heard through his face mask. 

“We encountered resistance upon reaching the objective,” Hanzo said, hoping to get through the trouble as quickly as possible. “Talon forces arrived on site, led by this man.” He gestured to Reaper, who shrugged. “We were forced to split up. I took the relics, which you can see here, and moved to high ground.” 

“Several came after me. There were more than I could handle on my own. Hanzo assisted me.” Zenyatta said. 

“Yeah, and he sent the dragons after the ones chasing us!” Tracer added. 

“Me an’ Soldier ran into old doom ‘n’ gloom here in the sunken courtyard bit.” McCree jerked his thumb at Reaper. “He got me down and then went after Soldier all personal-like.” 

“It  _ was _ personal.” Gabriel snorted. 

“‘Was’?” Jack riled. Ana grabbed him by the elbow before he could lunge across the table. 

“I was out of my own arrows when I found them, so I used the ones we found in the temple to halt two agents from taking McCree.” Hanzo managed to keep his voice steady despite the flutter like a knife between his ribs when he remembered the Talon agents closing in on the cowboy. “I used the remaining arrows on Reaper, but… they had less effect.” 

“Not sure they had that much effect on the ones you got in the first place, darlin’.” McCree winced. “They weren’t stopping. Gave me a chance to put ‘em down, though.” 

“Which is odd,” Reaper purred, gaze focused on the arrows, “because I’ve got some new ventilation in my armor that says you  _ did _ hit pretty damn well.” 

“Right through your head,” Jack muttered. “That’s when he started doing all… this.” He gestured wildly at Reyes, irritation and embarrassment warring in every movement. 

“Then the rest of the team arrived, and you all started shouting because he took off his mask.” Hanzo added. “And I… I realized what these are.” 

“You said they were a god’s tools. Cupid’s arrows.” McCree turned a piercing gaze on Hanzo, but the archer’s eyes were stuck fast on the word  _ eros _ on the arrow in front of McCree. “Cupid’s just a myth, darlin’.” 

“A myth like dragons?” Blue light shone from the inked lines on Hanzo’s shoulder, rippling like moonlight on waves. “What other explanation do you have for the sudden change to our enemy’s behavior?”

“I resent and resemble that remark,” Reaper grumbled. McCree kicked him under the table. 

Winston reached out for one of the arrows, pausing when Hanzo went tense. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. Hanzo didn’t relax, couldn’t relax, even as the gorilla delicately lifted the arrow to study it. 

“ _ Agape, _ ” he read out loud. “Commonly translated from Greek and interpreted as ‘unconditional love’.” 

“You can read it too?” Hanzo asked. 

“Oh, yes, I can read modern and ancient Greek, Latin, and many other--” Winston paused. “Too?” 

    “I do not know Greek.” Hanzo shook his head. “But I know what they say.” He glanced around to the others. 

    “Hey, it’s all Greek to me,” Lúcio chirped. Most of the rest of the team responded the same, but McCree and Reaper sat with nearly identical frowns. 

    “I can read it,” Reyes admitted. “Not sure I like what I’m reading, but I can read it.” 

“Yeah.” McCree stared at Hanzo rather than the arrows. “I second that.” 

Winston put the arrow back with the others, which he examined without touching. 

“ _ Philia.  _ That’s ‘platonic love’.  _ Storge _ is ‘familial love’, usually parental.” Jack and Jesse’s eyes immediately snapped to Gabriel. “And of course,  _ Eros _ is the most famous of the lot. That would be, er, I suppose you could call it ‘romantic love’.” 

“Well, that explains that.” Jack relaxed slightly. “So his brains  _ were _ scrambled, just by magic more than the arrow through his grey matter.” 

“You know, that right there? That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t fucking believe it when they made you Strike Commander.” Reyes growled. “You couldn’t find a clue if someone painted it on the side of a building unless they dropped the damn wall on your head.” 

It took both Ana and Reinhardt to keep Jack from jumping over the table at him. 

“Temper, temper, Jackie-boy,” Reaper said, but without a trace of his mocking smile. “Only one of us is allowed to jump the gun at a time.” 

“Well, you’re sure as hell not doing it right now, so doesn’t that make it my turn?” Soldier snapped back. Gabriel’s eyes widened, pupils dilating. McCree slid his chair away.

“For the love of everything under the sun,” he muttered. 

“I shot Reaper with three arrows,” Hanzo said. “The black one hit first. I only saw the words on the other two as I fired, but it was  _ eros _ , then  _ storge _ .”

Winston peered at the writing on the black arrow.

“ _ Antipathos.  _ I’m not sure this is actually a word, but it could be a portmanteau of some sort?” he pondered. “Considering what the others seem to do, I could hazard a guess at it’s effect. It will be difficult to figure out the extent of the influence without testing, but there’s no help for it. We can’t just poke someone else to compare--” 

Hanzo closed his eyes and clenches his fists at his side. 

“I also nicked McCree with one of the arrows. With  _ eros _ . I was trying to shoot Reaper in time to help Soldier:76. It was my own error; I apologize. I was hasty and distracted, and I did not aim as well as I should have. I will find a way to make reparations.” 

Jesse’s face flushed as several of his teammates glanced between the arrows and the thin red line across his cheekbone. For the third time in nearly as many hours, commotion broke out amongst the agents of Overwatch. 

“Oh, man, that’s  _ awkward _ .” 

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me!” 

“Hanzo, I’m so sorry--” 

“Jesse? Are you feeling okay?” 

“Wait, so who is in love with who now?” 

“McCree, would you consent to some quick tests--” 

“Brother--” 

“Really? You’re going to blame the arrows?” 

“It doesn’t work like that.” Gabriel stood up abruptly, cuffs falling off as the edges of his shape blurred into smoke. Jack immediately had his gun trained on him, but Jesse was just as fast, on his feet and between them before the cuffs hit the floor.

“Sit your gloomy ass back down in that chair,” he growled at Reaper, then glared at Soldier. “And you sit your trigger-happy ass down too, old man. We are going to do the one damn thing this fucking organziation has never managed to do since I met y'all, and that’s talk it out like grown-ass adults. No more secrets, no more goddamn lies. This ain’t black ops anymore, and nobody came here for the drama.” 

McCree’s outburst was startling enough that Jack did, actually, drop into an empty chair. Gabriel sat back down as well, but more sulky than stunned. 

“Speak for yourself,” he huffed. “I’m absolutely here for the drama.” 

McCree fixed him with a burning glower.

    “Tell them,” he demanded. 

    The responding play of emotions on Gabriel’s face fascinated everyone who knew him. There was the immediate, expected defiance, but right behind it was fondness, and even pride; not the kind that armored him, but pride in the man who stood up to him. 

    “They aren’t going to believe me,” he said. McCree remained adamant.  


    “Tell them what you told me,” he insisted, “`cause as far as I can see, this lack of communication ain’t helping anyone but the enemy.”

    Reyes rolled his eyes but turned to face Soldier, as close to staring him in the eye as one could through a tactical visor. 

    “I was undercover. Trying to infiltrate Talon after they sabotaged the Swiss HQ.” Gabriel paused, waiting for some kind of reaction from Jack, but when there was none, he went on. “Like a bunch of the rest of you, I used my death as an opportunity to do the things I couldn’t while Overwatch was still kicking. Only, unlike the rest of you, I did actually die. But that’s a much longer story for a day with a lot more alcohol, don’t you think?” He didn’t actually address the last part to Angela, but his scarlet eyes flickered over to her before coming back to Jack. 

    “Bullshit,” Jack said. Reyes gave McCree a smug, if resigned, look. “He wouldn’t-- Gabriel Reyes wouldn’t have--”

    “Stop talking about me like I’m not right here,” Gabriel growled. There was a funny undertone of longing in his rough voice, woven between the anger and the exhaustion and the pain. “You did that when I was alive, too. Putting me out of sight--”  

    “Even if you really were undercover--”

    “Honey, I love you, but of the two of us, which one got crammed into black-ops and espionage, and which one was shoved into paperwork and making nice with the U.N.?” Gabriel sighed. Jack’s face, only just returned to its natural color, flooded crimson again. “If I actually wanted to kill you,  _ any _ of you, I would have shot you in the head and got on with my day. If I had wanted to get at Athena’s servers, I would  _ not _ storm the compound with a whole damn team of Talon idiots. I can turn into smoke, for fuck’s sake. I’d go through the ventilation system, solidify behind Winston while he’s reading the screen, and blow his brains out at point blank range while his mouth is full of peanut butter.”

    Winston made an inarticulate sound of dismay and alarm. 

    “And McCree… Take out McCree’s arms, and he’s helpless. No offense, boy, but you can’t run for shit.” 

    “None taken.”

    “And I sure as hell wouldn’t try killing you by  _ strangulation _ , Jack, when you’re wearing goddamn  _ neck armor. _ Give me some credit. _ ”  _ Gabriel sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples to try and relieve a headache. “I didn’t suddenly fall in love with you because of a magic arrow. May have thrown away years of cover on impulse because of it, but if you’d seen what I saw… if you’d felt it…”

    “You’re not convincing me of anything like that,” said Jack. His voice came out strangled, choked between emotion and stoicism.

    Gabriel went still. The air went out of him, and he made no move to draw in more. He stared up at Jack, the red of his eyes like smoldering coals, a fire banked by the long-practiced patience that let old soldiers outwait and eventually outlive their younger counterparts. 

    “That first arrow hit; it made me feel nothing. No pain, no anger, nothing. The second one hit, and I saw what could happen if I started fighting for you. And I realized I wanted to. I wanted to try. Even without a hope, I wanted it. Bad enough that when I turned around and saw the team I led coming for you, I wasn’t having it. No one gets to take this away from me. 

    “You can say ‘no’. There’s a lot of bad blood and burned bridges between us, I know, but no one else gets to take away the chance of ‘yes’. I’ve been holding onto it for too long.” Gabriel leaned back, eyes hooded until only the smallest sliver of the ember was visible. “No magic arrow made me fall in love with you, dumbass. I’ve loved you since the S.E.P.”

Jack didn’t say anything at first. He stood, ramrod-straight and sentry-still, every muscle tensed. The rest of the team held their breaths to watch him.  

“You fucking liar.” The words sounded like they hurt Jack as much to say them as they enraged Gabriel to hear. “You can’t-- all these years I wanted-- you never--”

“When was I supposed to say something, Jackie?” Gabriel stood up, ghosting across the table slowly enough that there was no threat in his movement. He edged into Jack’s space, but Jack refused to give up even an inch of ground, leaving Gabriel to circle around him like clouds around a mountain top. “When we were both in classified shit up to the eyeballs? In the middle of running around trying to save the damn world from its own madness? When I was choking on my own pride and you were a hostage of the U.N.’s bureaucracy? Or when we were both dead, chasing each other’s ghosts? I got nothing, Jack. If I missed my opportunity, fine. I wasn’t expecting more than this anyway. I only came along because you make the cutest faces when you’re pissed off, and because the cowboy asked.”

Reyes turned to gesture to McCree, only to find a distinct lack of cowboy among the Overwatch members. He scowled a moment, noticed a distinct lack of archer as well, and was about to smirk when his gaze fell on the table. There was an ancient leather quiver there, and four arrows. All of them gleamed gold. 

Gabriel and Jack faced each other with matching expressions of apprehension. 

“Well, what do you know? The little bastard finally learned how to sneak properly,” said Gabriel, but even his gruff tone couldn’t cover his concern. “Damn.”


	5. Act Five: How it Ended

Hanzo perched on top one of the shipping containers that littered the exposed grounds of the base. Once, long ago, the containers held equipment and resources to help the organization that housed them. Now whatever was inside was forgotten, decayed into uselessness, or, more likely, they sat hollow, memorials to obsolescence.  

Hanzo felt a little kinship there; he, too, felt gutted and rusted and would have preferred to remain unremembered among the wreckage than be dragged into the gleaming present and feel like an ill fit.

The ringing clatter of spurs broke through the more organic sounds around him. Hanzo pulled back away from the sides of the container, laid out flat, and held his breath. He was high up enough that there was no chance McCree could see him from the ground, nor climb to reach him. The burn in his lungs would leave, and so would the cowboy. 

The fading scarlet sunlight suddenly burned with midday intensity. Somewhere overhead a bird of prey screamed. Hanzo felt a warm, dry wind - unnatural to the seaside - caress the exposed skin of his shoulder like a exploratory kiss.

    “I know you’re up there, Hanzo.” McCree said. His voice was not directly beside the shipping container. Hanzo closed his eyes and held still. “Darlin’, we’re gonna have to talk about this sometime. Might as well be now, while everyone else is occupied with Reyes and Morrison’s soap opera drama. Unless you want an audience?”

    He refused to allow the cowboy to bait him into giving away his position. The heavy footsteps, however, came towards him as inexorably as the ticking of a clock.

   “Hanzo,” said McCree. “Please.”  

    Hanzo let out his breath slowly and rolled over towards the sound. McCree stood below, head tilted towards him, the black arrow clutched in his metal fist. 

    “Well?” Hanzo asked. “What do you want?” 

    “For starters, I’d like an answer to the question I asked you earlier.” Jesse gave him a crooked smile, weighed down on one side by doubt and buoyed on the other by hope. “You wanna grab dinner when this is all done?” Hanzo hesitated, and Jesse’s smile fell. “You don’t wanna? Is it me, or is it this whole Cupid’s arrows nonsense? ‘Cause darlin’, I gotta tell you, that’s got nothing to do with this.” 

    “You will think differently, when Winston finds a way to undo my error.” Hanzo tried to assure him. Jesse looked pretty unassured. 

    “Look, I don’t know exactly when you stepped out of the big reveal back there, but I’m betting you missed some important parts.” He shifted his weight and sighed. “None of this was actually your fault. Reyes has been in love with Jack for years. All these so-called magic arrows did was give him a reason to do something about it.” 

    “They are not so-called magic,” Hanzo protested. “They are real--” 

    “And that’s a deflection.” Jesse pointed out. “Hanzo, I like you, and I’ve liked you for a while now. You can ask Fareeha and Angela; goodness knows they’ve had to listen to me yap about you for ages.” 

    Hanzo faltered, torn. Despair disguised as pragmatism won out as usual. 

    “They are your friends, they will say whatever you ask them to.” 

    “Whoa boy, you have  _ not _ been paying attention.” Jesse whistled. “I mean, I’m grateful that you’ve managed to miss that the old guard’s favorite pastime is ‘Throw McCree Under The Bus’, but honey, no one says anything just because I asked them to. Hell, I had to badger Reyes the entire trip back just to get him to even consider explaining what the hell he’s been up to while we all thought he was dead.”

    Hanzo, who clearly remembered McCree’s ‘badgering’ as being able to charm an irate Hana into forgiving him after he tripped a breaker and blew the power during one of her livestreams, remained unconvinced. It must have shown on his face, because Jesse slumped. He shook his head and unclasped his armor, dropping it to the ground beside him. Nameless dread took shape in the back of Hanzo’s head, rushing forward to overwhelm him with horrible potential futures. 

    “All right,” he said, holding up the black arrow. “I’ll prove it to you.” And he plunged the arrow point first into his chest.  

    Hanzo was on the ground and at Jesse’s side in a heartbeat. 

    “You idiot!” he hissed.

    “Don’t worry, Reyes said it doesn’t hurt.” He winced and glanced down. Crimson spread across his shirt, the black shaft at the center of the blossom. “Huh. I guess that might have been ‘cause the old bastard’s got superpowers or something. Didn’t seem to hurt the other two you shot, though...” He gritted his teeth. 

    “No, don’t--” The warning came too late, and Jesse ripped the arrowhead free. His knee buckled at the fresh pain. Hanzo caught him before he collapsed and helped ease him to the ground, sparing only a glance for the arrow disappearing as it dropped from Jesse’s fingers.  “These are a god’s tools! They are meant to be used a certain way!” He tried to examine the wound, but it was hard to see clearly between the blood and the fading daylight.

    “Oh. Right. From--” Jesse tried to gesture like he was drawing a bow, grimaced, and dropped his arm. “Ah, crap.”

    “Where is your comm?”

    “Where’s yours, sunshine?”

    “I left it on the ship.”

    “Well, mine got busted in the fight, so this one’s on you.” The teasing tone just infuriated Hanzo more. He ripped the unused sleeve off his  _ gi _ to press to the wound. McCree drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.  

    “You saw the holes it left in Reaper’s armor. Why would you do this?”

    “Got you down here, didn’t it?” He had the audacity to smile. “Hanzo, honey, it looks worse than it is. C’mon, ease up--”

    Hanzo applied more pressure, and Jesse wheezed. 

    “Ease up, I said!” He grabbed the hand pressing the cloth to his chest. Hanzo kept his eyes down, all his courage for the day used up. “I’ve been hurt worse than this. There’s no need for alarm.” 

    “You stabbed yourself with an arrow in an ill-planned attempt to make some kind of point. I think there is plenty of cause for alarm.” 

    “Magic arrow.” Jesse half-shrugged. “It did what it was supposed to do, even if it hurts more than I expected.” 

    Hanzo’s hands stilled, but his heart sank, sending a wave of ice through his nerves. 

    “Then… your mind is clear?”

    “Clear as crystal.” 

    “Ah. Then… I will go find Angela--”

    “ _ Hanzo _ . Will you  _ please  _ just look at me?” 

    It was the “please” that did Hanzo in, the whisper-soft, fear-thin word that sounded like it was about to break under the weight of hope. He steeled his nerves, raised his eyes, and felt his blood ignite. 

    Steadfast, strong, sure and sober. Jesse’s gaze settled on him like the warmth of spring sunlight. 

    “I still like you,” he said. “And if you want to go get your bow and do this again proper, I’ll do it again and again until you’re convinced. It wasn’t magic that made me feel this way. All that did was show me what could happen if I stopped wondering about it and started chasing it.”

    Hanzo forgot to breathe. Jesse smiled. Hanzo’s heart stopped. Jesse leaned forward. 

    Hanzo pressed down on the makeshift bandage. 

    Hard. 

    Jesse choked on a curse and a groan. 

    “You are in no condition for whatever it was you thought to do,” Hanzo chided, pulling away. “I will get Angela, and she will fix you up.”

    Jesse fell back, eyes closed tight. Stoicism sanded the pained lines of his face down to neutrality, wiping away the disappointment. 

    “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t trouble yourself or Angela on my account. I can patch it up myself.”

    Hanzo pulled off Jesse’s hat, hesitated, and then planted a decisive but chaste kiss to his lips. Jesse’s eyes flew open in shock. 

    “I will get Angela to fix you up,” he said again, “because her equipment will have you back on your feet in time for us to go to dinner.”

    “You mean--” Hope lit up like stars in Jesse’s eyes. 

    “If you are certain, then so am I,” said Hanzo. He smiled and kissed Jesse again, this time on the end of his nose. “Wait here, and try not to move. You do not want to make it worse.”

    Jesse watched Hanzo dart off towards the briefing room. 

“Well,” he sighed happily. “Hot damn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially Spoiler-y Sort-Of-Warning: Characters in this story have concerns that actions are taken under the influence of mind-control or because of magic, however, rest assured that everyone's actions are their own decisions.


End file.
